


Babydoll

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, Mpreg, Sex Shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I haven’t been in the mood much, you know what I mean? Just…feeling rather pregnant, is all.” He patted his bump gently. </p><p> </p><p>“Ooh, but that’s the best time to do it,” Mrs. Hudson said enthusiastically.</p><p> </p><p>That's an awful title but it's the best I could come up with. Someone title my fics. Please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babydoll

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consultinghomosexual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultinghomosexual/gifts).



> A commission for consulting-homos.tumblr.com.
> 
> Follow me. annabagnell.tumblr.com

At some point, John figured, he was going to start looking pregnant instead of just fat. Because right now - even though he could feel the baby fluttering around and kicking - he felt fat, and knew he looked it too. 

 

He’d treated many Omegas in his career, and had watched them grow from six weeks to forty (forty-three, once, and he shuddered to think of it). He knew what a pregnancy looked like from start to finish, and knew that there was a bit of a lull between sixteen and twenty-four weeks where the Omega just looked…well, a bit chubby. And as John was already a bit chubby to begin with, it seemed like that lull was lasting even longer. 

 

Mrs. Hudson wasn’t helping, with her cakes and sweets and casseroles. “Have another piece, John,” she urged, cutting another large chunk of yellow cake and pushing it toward John. “You’ve got to keep up your health, you know, making a baby takes quite a lot of energy, as you well know.” 

 

John laughed drily and nodded, and took a bite of the cake without protest. (He’d learned it wasn’t worth the effort to refuse.) “I’m just waiting for baby to grow a bit more,” he said, patting his belly. “I just look fat, right now. Having a proper bump will make me feel better, I think.” 

 

Mrs. Hudson cooed and nodded in agreement. “You just wait a few more weeks, though,” she chuckled. “Then you’ll be wishing that sweet baby was a bit smaller.” She reached across and patted John’s hand. John smiled, and took another bite of cake. 

 

* * *

 

Mrs. Hudson was right. Of course she was. At twenty-five weeks John was pretty sure he looked like he was ready to burst, and as he struggled to tug on his trousers, he found himself feeling nostalgic for days past when he could pull on his clothes without feeling like a blimp. 

 

Sherlock’s cool hands joined John’s on his waistband, tugging the trousers up and settling them around his bump. The Alpha snugged himself up behind John and laid his hands on John’s growing belly, and John could feel his smile. “Don’t you get any ideas, you,” he chastised gently, but couldn’t help but smile a little when Sherlock rubbed his belly. 

 

“What sort of ideas?” Sherlock asked, mock-innocent. “I’ve no idea what you might be suggesting.” His hands slid possessively around John’s bump, and John felt his body start to respond to the touch. He wriggled out of Sherlock’s grasp and went to pull on his shirt. When he turned around, Sherlock looked a little hurt, and John sighed and frowned. 

 

“Sorry,” he said, pulling his shirt on and sighing again when he saw how tight it was. “Just…not feeling quite myself, you know? Feeling a bit fat, really.” He patted his belly.

 

“You’re not fat,” Sherlock said, and John rolled his eyes. 

 

“I know I’m not. I’m growing a baby. But I feel _huge_ , Sherlock. Like, properly cow huge. It’s not very attractive.” He put his hands on the sides of his belly for emphasis. 

 

Sherlock nodded slowly, and eventually shrugged. “I mean.” He lifted a hand and scrubbed it over the back of his neck, pulling a face briefly. “I don’t mind it. I think you’re as attractive now as you always are. You’re having my baby, John. I’d never find that unattractive.” 

 

John chuckled hollowly and shook his head. “You just wait another couple of months. See if you still think the same thing.” 

 

“I’ll always think you’re attractive,” Sherlock replied, his voice following John as the Omega left the bedroom. Something cold and sad settled into John’s chest, and nothing he did chased away the sound of Sherlock’s sad, quiet voice. 

 

* * *

 

It all seemed to even out after that. Sherlock respected his boundaries, and though John felt a bit of a prat at times, it made things a bit easier. He asked for touch when he wanted it, and he asked Sherlock to stop when he didn’t. And bump continued to grow. 

 

Sherlock was away for a few days on business, and they’d long ago decided that John’s condition negated any need of Sherlock to have him along when there was a criminal in the mix. So John stayed home, and though he was lonely, it was good at least that he was safe. 

 

Mrs. Hudson asked him to come down for dinner, and John was glad for the company. The baby didn’t make for a very good conversational partner, and it was good to have some human interaction, even if it was just for an hour or so. 

 

John was enjoying the meal and listening to Mrs. Hudson’s idle chatter. At one point, though, the conversation took a turn. 

 

“So, John,” the landlady said, taking a sip of her tea, “How’ve things been with Sherlock? In bed, I mean. You must be craving him all the time now, instincts and all that,” she said, grinning a little wickedly. 

 

John choked on his water. “Ahm…” he cleared his throat and blinked a few times. “I mean…cor, Mrs. H., out of all the dinner conversations…” 

 

Mrs. Hudson giggled. “I’m sorry, John dear. I’m just thinking of how things were with Mr. Hudson, you know, when I was expecting…though I suppose it’s really not my place to ask.” 

 

Oh, but John could feel the slight manipulation in that phrasing. “No, it’s alright,” he sighed, giving in. What would it hurt? He was already up the duff. “We, erm. Well, you know, I haven’t been in the mood much, you know what I mean? Just…feeling rather pregnant, is all.” He patted his bump gently. 

 

“Ooh, but that’s the best time to do it,” Mrs. Hudson said enthusiastically, and John was glad he hadn’t taken another sip of water. “When the Alpha’s all proud of what they’ve done, and you’ve still got the energy to go at it…” She sighed, and John was suddenly very glad that he didn’t have the apparent mind-reading skill of his mate. “When I was, you know, I bought some nighties. The naughty ones, you know, the little frilly, lacy things…my, but they didn’t even last the night!” She giggled and John felt his face growing bright red. “You might try it, John, you’ll feel better about it all once Sherlock’s shown you how much he wants you.” 

 

John tried to speak, but the words were caught in his throat. Besides, he wasn’t sure what to say to that at all. Shutting his mouth at last, he let out a high giggle and shook his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I…okay. Thank you very much for dinner, Mrs. Hudson, I’ll just be - upstairs. Yeah. Goodnight,” he said, hauling himself to his feet and hustling out of the room as quickly as he could manage. 

 

He was glad to have escaped when he did, though he wished he could’ve taken the stairs a bit faster when he heard Mrs. Hudson’s voice calling after him. “I’ll make sure I’m somewhere else the next few evenings, John! So you and Sherlock can have some privacy!” 

 

“Yeah, thanks, Mrs. H.,” John replied, his voice so hoarse with embarrassment that he was certain she didn’t hear him. He hurried up the stairs and closed the door to their flat as quickly as he could, staring at the skull on the mantle with horror. “You understand, don’t you, Billy? How that was positively mortifying? God, I’m talking to a _skull,_ ” he spat, and waddled toward the bathroom for a long, hot shower. 

 

* * *

 

John laid awake that night, thinking about what Mrs. Hudson had said and then subsequently trying not to think about what Mrs. Hudson had said. The little swimmy movements in his stomach kept his thoughts returning to their conversation, and as he rubbed his belly idly, he started to wonder. He knew he hadn’t been a very good mate as of late; he’d barely even so much as kissed Sherlock in weeks, and they hadn’t had sex in months. He also knew he wasn’t obligated to have sex with Sherlock, but he wanted to make his mate happy. And he knew that sex would make Sherlock very, very happy. 

 

Rolling his eyes and sighing, John flopped over onto his side and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. He did a quick Google search and then, steeling himself for what was to come, rolled out of bed and pulled on his clothes. He left the flat quietly so as not to disturb his landlady, and headed toward central London. 

 

The bright lights of the sex shop lit up the street with vibrant reds and yellows. Though the windows were papered black, there was no mistaking what was inside. At this hour, the streets were fairly deserted, but the shop was open 24 hours a day. John shuddered a little to think what other kind of people would be out shopping for sex toys at 11:36 p.m. on a Tuesday, but he shook the thought away and pushed the door open. 

 

The shopkeeper chirped a ‘Hello!’ when John walked up to present his ID - a formality, at this point, particularly with the very visible baby bump on clear display. He nodded politely and headed toward the back of the shop where they kept the clothes, hoping that this experience wouldn’t somehow taint their child’s life once it was born. 

 

The baby kicked a little and John patted his bump idly, winding his way through the rows of kinky leather suits and lingerie. Finally he found what he’d been looking for - a rack of babydoll tops, with a rather large number separated off and marked for maternity. “Well. Seems Mrs. H isn’t the only one who wears - wore - these kinds of…oh, god, forget it,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing as he started to parse through the selection. 

 

“I’m sorry, do you need some help?” came a voice, and John jumped and whirled around. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the shop attendant said, smiling sheepishly. “Just wondered if I could help you find anything.” 

 

 _I’m allowed to be here,_ John reminded himself staunchly, and offered back a small smile. “I, erm…I think I found what I’m looking for. Just…want to get something to please my mate.” 

 

“Ah, well, you’ve come to the right place, then! We’ve got plenty of babydoll tops and lingerie here for pregnant Omegas, I’m sure you’ll find something you like. We can’t allow you to try them on, though, sorry.” She looked the rack over and plucked something out to put it back in its proper place. 

 

“Oh - oh, no, I wouldn’t - no, wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sure the sizes are fine, I won’t need to try anything on.” John cleared his throat and turned back to the clothes, nervously riffling through the hangers. 

 

“Right, of course.” Thankfully, the attendant seemed to catch John’s attitude, and made as if to leave. She stopped, though, and turned back. “By the way, we’ve got vibrators and plugs at up to half off, they’re at the other end of the store if you’re interested.” 

 

John choked out an ‘okay’ and tried not to melt into an embarrassed puddle. The attendant left, then, and John focused back in on his task. Just a few things…just a few things, frugal things, things that would make Sherlock happy. 

 

Damn it all to hell, all of these were really very pretty. John imagined himself wearing the grey one, his growing breasts resting full in the cups, drawn up and pert, resting on top of his belly, which was highlighted by the sheer grey material…

 

An hour later, John left with two demure black bags, loaded carefully with several pairs of panties, babydoll tops, bottles of lube (they were running out, after all) and two new toys. If nothing else, Sherlock would get a kick out of John’s purchases, even if he didn’t appreciate them wholly for what they were. 

 

John was just glad Mrs. Hudson was asleep when he came back to the flat. This was one discussion he didn’t want to have with his landlady. 

 

* * *

 

John was waiting, dressed in his best, when he heard Sherlock’s feet on the stairs. He opened the door just before Sherlock did, and let himself smile a bit when Sherlock’s expression turned gobsmacked. 

 

Sherlock set his bags on the floor and stepped forward, forcing John back just far enough that he could shut - and lock - the door behind himself. He then stepped back to drink in John’s appearance.

 

John was glowing in the way that all second-trimester Omegas glowed. His cheeks were flushed, full and healthy, his hair thick and shiny. The grey babydoll top he’d found in the sex shop graced his form, cupping his breasts and lifting them until they were delightfully full and pert. The sheer fabric draped over his belly, full and round with 29 weeks’ worth of baby (currently sleeping). His cock was gently encased in a matching set of panties, and though he’d decided to forgo the stockings (they really were lovely, but just not for John), the look was certainly complete without them. 

 

“So i’m taking this to mean you don’t mind if I touch you,” Sherlock said at last, and my, but his voice had gone deep. John grinned. 

 

“Touch me, kiss me…do whatever else you want to me,” he replied, stepping forward and pushing himself up onto his toes to kiss Sherlock deeply. Sherlock’s hands slid down his back and brushed across those lacy panties, and john melted into his touch. “Take me to bed,” he breathed against Sherlock’s lips, pulling him in for another bruising kiss. “Please.” 

 

 

 

 

As they lay there afterward, John’s expensive clothes tossed across the room like so much garbage, John couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Sherlock was tracing his fingers in long paths up and down John’s torso, from his chest to his belly and back again, laughing when the baby’s hand followed his touch. “You don’t have to dress up for me, you know,” the Alpha rumbled at last, and John turned to look at him. “I think you’re attractive regardless of what clothes you do or do not wear.”

 

John cast a glance at the grey panties that had caught on the post at the foot of the bed and grinned broadly. “I think I quite liked dressing up, actually.” He kissed Sherlock slowly. “I’ll have to show you the rest of my collection soon.” 

 

“The rest of your collection?” Sherlock asked, intrigued. “What prompted this, then?” He rubbed his palm over John’s waist. 

 

John laughed, the sound echoing off the walls in the room. “Trust me…you do _not_ want to know.” 


End file.
